


Theresa 2

by BeaRyan



Series: Teresa [1]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Who the hell did Julia consider good enough to take with her when she fled Atlanta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 15:25:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaRyan/pseuds/BeaRyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pondering the identity of the mysterious Teresa who fled Atlanta with Julia before the bombs dropped.    In "Warmth" she's a Patriot with a long history with the Neville family.<br/>*Renamed on 1/2/2015 because I had a fic in a different fandom with the same name.  No other changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theresa 2

“Jason?” she called quietly. 

“Yeah?” 

“I'm cold.” 

Jason breathed deeply, huffing air out through his nose. It didn't feel cold to him, but Teresa seemed to catch a chill easily now. She'd spent the last seven years in Georgia. Washington D.C. was another animal, a hard, ice-crusted animal, compared to the life she was used to. 

He glanced at Bass who shrugged noncommittally. Whether she froze, shivered or was happy seemed not to matter to him so long as she didn't escape. Jason studied her hunched form and tried not to care. The first time he'd seen her up on the dais at a Patriot political rally he'd wanted to charge the stage and kiss her, reclaiming what he'd lost so long ago. He'd fought down the urge out of a basic survival instinct at the time and avoided her later for her sake. A woman's apparent virtue was her only currency in the Patriot empire. Even after seven years apart he cared too much for Teresa to bankrupt her. Here and now though, as his prisoner, he could touch her, warm her, without putting her reputation at risk. What he wasn't certain he could do was let her go. 

“Jay,” she pleaded. 

He crossed the room and quickly uncuffed her hands from behind her back in the chair, it had seemed like overkill anyway, and recuffed them in front of her. He pulled the large, overstuffed leather chair, a chair and a half Bass had called it, closer to the fire and sat down, pulling her in next to him and wrapping them both in a blanket. She twisted sideways and draped her legs over his lap, touching him as little as possible and tucking her hands between her knees for warmth. When they were much younger she would have put them on him to make him jump at the icy touch. In their early teens they would have used the excuse to cautiously explore each other beneath the blanket, neither pretending it was innocent nor acknowledging what they were really doing. 

His mother had adored the girl and had preferred to act as if they were all one happy family, ignoring the the fact that the freckled blond girl was really a neighbor from the house where they no longer lived in a town that barely still existed. Two months after the blackout Teresa had knocked on their door, reminding them that during fire prevention week she'd been told to go to their house if she was alone in a fire. She'd pointed to the glow and smoke on the horizon as tears ran down her face, and they'd fled the subdivision together, thereafter living as an awkward family of four. Jason and Teresa both loved the gentle guidance his mother provided and loathed the firm discipline dished out by his father. Sharing parents and a roof hadn't made them siblings. It had just made them secretive. 

His father had figured it out first. He'd handed fifteen year old Jason a bag of condoms and said, “If she gets pregnant I will kill you.” At the time they hadn't even had sex yet. Once equipped, they didn't wait, quickly discovering that long stretches of unsupervised time were more precious and more fulfilling than awkward half-clothed fumbling under the blankets while pretending to fend off the winter chill. Without the luxury of central heat, his mother had let them share a bed on cold nights they quickly made warm. He still loved winter.

He'd bought Teresa an engagement ring with his first paycheck from the militia a week after his seventeenth birthday. He'd kissed her neck as he fastened the chain and watched as it disappeared inside her shirt. Julia still didn't know and they didn't want to start the fight when Teresa wasn't yet old enough to get married. Six months later, when he'd returned home after his first long mission to Chicago, she was gone. Georgia and the Monroe Republic had worked out the Reunion Treaty, helping parents reunite with their children despite the national boundaries. She'd been seven when the power went out while her father was on a business trip and seventeen when she'd been forcibly reunited with him in a country she'd never visited. 

And now here she was, so close he could smell the starch in her clothes and the wet wool of her sweater. Under it all was her own personal scent, feminine yet musky and rich with memories. He knew the parts of her body where her smell was stronger and the parts where it changed. He knew the differences in the taste of her ear and her belly. He knew her, and still somehow she was a Patriot and his prisoner. 

He wrapped an arm around the legs perched over his lap and pulled her closer to him. “Why are you with them?” he asked.

“With who?” 

“The Patriots.” 

The pause ran so long he thought she wouldn't answer. She finally rested her head on his shoulder and stared into the fire, drawing a deep breath before speaking. “I was confused when I got to Georgia. I'd been told to hate them most of my life and I didn't really remember my dad. It was all pretty awful at first. When Julia came to visit she told me the Patriots hated Georgia as much as I did and that a woman would be safer under their rule than the Georgians. She also said I'd get to see her twice a year to pass on information and all I had to do was take a job as a receptionist in the capitol. It paid enough for a little apartment so I didn't have to live with my dad. It was a good offer.” 

“My mom visited you in Georgia?” Jason asked, willing his voice to stay level and casual. 

“Uh-huh.”

“How many times?” 

“How many times did she visit?” Teresa asked. 

Jason nodded. 

“Twice a year for seven years. I guess that's fourteen visits, but that seems low. She stayed for a week at a time when she came.”

“She bought clothes,” Jason said hollowly. 

“Lots," Teresa said, her voice tinged with a smile. "We were ladies who lunched. We traded fashion notes too. Had a bang up girly time.” 

Jason stared into the fire and swallowed his feelings.

Teresa continued, “I was really glad to be able to help them when they moved to Atlanta. I found people to vouch for Tom. Got them set up in an apartment she'd like. It was nice to be able to repay them a little bit for everything they'd done for me.” 

“It sounds like my mother's done more than I ever suspected,” he said. 

She stretched her neck, nuzzling against him, skin on skin, her breath hot and distracting when it touched him, before whispering so quietly that Monroe couldn't hear, “You're asking the wrong question. Why aren't you with the Patriots?”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, crit con, etc. welcome.


End file.
